


Master of Disaster

by Kitsune_Sam



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Geralt is a helpful bean, Jaskier needs to learn to be less nosy, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Spells gone awry, Temporarily non-human Jaskier, and also a big softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsune_Sam/pseuds/Kitsune_Sam
Summary: One day Jaskier was going to learn to not let his curiosity get the better of him. One day he was going to learn not to get himself into trouble..... probably.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 198





	Master of Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is mostly self indulgent fluff with a tiny dash of hurt/comfort. It's my take on an idea that has probably been done many times already but honestly, who says no to more fics?
> 
> Title comes courtesy of Seether, who I have been listening to non-stop while writing this.

Jaskier walked along the road, fingers plucking idly at lute strings as he went. The autumn air was cold but the sky was bright, the red and orange leaves around him dancing like flames.

It was late morning and Jaskier was feeling inspired. 

He had left behind a quaint little village and set off for the next, basking in the colourful forest surrounding him. He mumbled lyrics under his breath, testing out variations of the same line.

He had just settled on one- a rather quirky and interesting choice if he did say so himself- when he finally registered noises coming from further down the road.

He silenced his lute strings, tilting his head to determine what it was he was hearing.

After listening intently for a few minutes with no ideas forthcoming he realised he would have to move closer to see exactly what it was.

He edged slowly down the road, ready to turn tail and run should he come across some terrible beast that enjoyed bards for breakfast. 

He came round a bend on the road and felt his mouth drop open.

There, on the road in front of a little cottage, were two mages locked in battle. Spells and curses were thrown between them, glancing off hastily formed shields that glimmered from the impact.

Jaskier watched on, amazed. 

_This would make for a_ fantastic _ballad!_ he thought delightedly.

He crept closer, crouching behind a bush on the side of the road, placing his lute and pack on the ground beside him. He peeked his head over the leaves to observe.

Both mages were unrelenting, casting spell after spell in rapid succession. The very air felt charged with magic and caused the hairs on the back of Jaskier's neck to stand on end.

He was so enraptured in the fight before him that Jaskier didn't notice the errant spell flying in his direction until it hit him square in the face.

He vaguely felt himself falling backwards before he blacked out.

-

Jaskier's eyes fluttered open, the sky above him bleeding orange and pink. Sunset. He'd been out for hours. He shifted his head, wincing at the throbbing headache. Whatever spell had hit him was less than pleasant. His entire body ached and felt...a little off.

He went to sit up, freezing when his body didn't respond as he expected it to. He looked down at himself and let out a panicked yelp.

Those were not his hands. They were definitely paws. Dogs paws. He twisted his head to get a better look at the rest of his body, unsurprisingly finding the rest of him as dog-like as his hands.

He pushed himself to his feet (all _four_ of them) and looked around. He was still partially behind the bush he had hidden behind to watch the fight between the mages, though they were nowhere to be seen.

His lute and his pack lay on the ground next to him, safe and untouched. His clothes, however, lay shredded beneath his feet. They had clearly not survived whatever spell had turned him into a dog.

Jaskier whined in the back of his throat. Yes, it could have been so much worse, it could have been _him_ shredded to pieces not his clothes, but damn it, they were expensive and he had not had them all that long.

His gaze shifted to the cottage. Presumably owned by one of the fighting mages. It's door was ajar. Jaskier felt a spike of hope. If the mage was home they could turn him back and he could be on his way. Perhaps they could even fix his clothes.

He walked towards the cottage. Or at least he tried to. He stumbled, catching himself just before he fell into the bush.

Walking with four legs was apparently more difficult than he had initially anticipated.

He took one step at a time, carefully lifting each foot and setting it down before moving the next. It was slow going but he eventually made it past the fence bordering the house and up to the door. He pushed it open with his nose and stepped inside.

It was a small house with plenty of dried herbs and trinkets hanging from the ceiling. There was one door leading out of the room but it was shut. Jaskier considered it before deciding there was no way he would be able to open it in his current state.

He barked loudly to get the attention of whoever lived here. He waited a moment and barked again when no one came looking. Still no one came. He barked again, louder, but heard no movement in the cottage. He felt his stomach drop. 

Wherever the mage had gone after the fight it hadn't been back to their house.

Jaskier looked around, considering. There were various potion bottles on the shelves in the room but he didn't dare go anywhere near them. He looked back outside. Perhaps the mage had gone to the village just down the road where Jaskier had come from.

Jaskier huffed out a breath. He made his way back over to the bush where he had left his stuff. He gazed down at his pack and lute. He couldn't just leave them beside the road.

He picked the lute up with his teeth, gripping it as gently as he could manage. He sent a quick prayer up to the gods that he wouldn't damage the delicate instrument before carrying it carefully over to the cottage.

He paused inside, looking around for a spot to place his lute down. 

He decided on leaning it up against the side of a cupboard, mostly out of view. He checked the instrument for marks as best he could and was fairly certain it had made the trip unscathed. He went back to grab his pack, carrying it over and placing it carefully with his lute. The second trip had definitely taken less time.

_I think I'm getting the hang of this walking on all fours malarkey._

As he left he nudged the door closed, pulling the handle in his teeth to shut it properly.

He set off back towards the village, hoping to find the mage in the tavern, either celebrating their victory or drowning their losses.

It took longer than Jaskier thought it would before the village came into sight. The sky was getting incrementally darker but was still light enough for people to be finishing up their daily tasks outside.

He drew closer to the village, a young woman glancing up at him as she bent to pick up the basket at her feet. She froze, her gaze snapping back up to him.

And then she screamed.

Jaskier jumped, spinning around, half expecting some monster to be coming up the road behind him but the road was empty. He turned back in time to see a slightly older woman run over to the first, who was now pointing directly at Jaskier. The older woman looked over and gasped, grabbing the arm of the younger before turning and bellowing into the village.

" _Wolf!_ "

Jaskier froze. He wasn't a dog. He was a wolf.

_Oh fuck!_

He heard the rising sounds of commotion and shouting coming from behind the woman. He didn't wait around to find out what weapons these villagers had to defend themselves.

He spun round inelegantly, all four legs scrambling as he ran back down the road. He nearly tripped a few times as he fled, instinct alone keeping him upright.

He made it back to the cottage, darting through the fence and cowering behind a bush at the far side of the house. He could hear the distant voices of the villagers shouting as they searched for him but they didn't venture close enough for him to have to run again.

He panted as he lay there, the adrenaline keeping him on high alert even after the voices faded and the sun set properly.

As time crawled by Jaskier started to relax a little. His stomach rumbled and he realised he hadn't eaten since his late breakfast that morning. He slowly crept out from behind his bush, making his way over to the front door in hopes he could scavenge some food from inside.

He realised his error when he looked to see the door shut tight. He had closed it before going in search of the mage. There was no way he was getting it open again.

He deliberated for a moment before sniffing his way around the cottage's garden. He wasn't exactly sure what he was hoping to find but his search came up empty.

He walked back over to his bush and lay down. He would just have to wait for the mage to return. Hopefully they would not be having a late night at the tavern.

He wasn't sure exactly when he fell asleep but when he woke up it was morning. 

Jaskier got up and stretched, his claws digging into the dirt as he moved. He took a second to get his bearings before remembering why he had slept in the bush.

The mage. 

_They must be home by now, surely._

He walked to the door and barked loudly. No answer. He barked again but already knew no one was coming. He sniffed at the door. There were no fresh scents meaning no one had come home last night. He wasn't sure how he knew that but he was certain he was correct.

_Well, now what?_

He couldn't go back to the village; he quite liked his skin _on his back_ , thank you very much, fur or no fur. Neither did he much fancy waiting around here for the mage to reappear. Wherever they had gone Jaskier was starting to doubt it had been the village at all.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten the night before. Right. First course of action would be finding some food.

He ruled out the village again and already knew there was nothing to be found at this cottage. Which left hunting for his meal in the surrounding forest.

 _Well. I'm certainly a lot faster in this form. How hard could hunting as a_ wolf _be?_

-

Jaskier pawed his way dejectedly through the forest, looking for a relatively safe place to settle for the night. His hunting had been less than successful. 

He had been hopeful when he had caught the scent of what he was almost sure was a rabbit early that morning, but his hope had quickly turned to frustration when he realised he couldn't catch the little bugger. He was fast, but the rabbit was faster.

He found a little rocky outcropping surrounded by small bushes and nestled down between them. He tried to ignore the hunger and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure what to do.

He had checked back in at the cottage twice throughout the day but there had been no sign of anyone there. What if they didn't come back?

He sighed. He would try hunting again tomorrow but if he couldn't catch anything he would have no choice but to risk the village to find food.

He drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

When he awoke he made his way back to the cottage, unsurprised to find it empty still. 

He spent the day hunting again. He wasn't entirely thrilled at the thought of eating raw meat but the hunger was getting to be more than just a little nagging sensation. And surely the ability to digest it would come with being stuck in this form? 

By the time night fell he hadn't managed to catch anything. Again. He had tried stalking and creeping up on his prey, had tried chasing it full speed, tried outsmarting it but to no avail. And now was even more hungry for his efforts.

He wandered through the trees in no particular direction, lamenting his fate.

 _I'm going to die as a sodding wolf. I'm either going to starve or be killed by a bunch of angry villagers. All because I just couldn't resist getting close to mage fight for the sake of inspiration and I have_ no idea _how to bloody well hunt!_

He growled in frustration as he pushed forward, not sure where he was going but too agitated to keep still. 

Then his nose picked up a scent. He stopped, sniffing at the air, trying to determine what it was.

Smoke.

A campfire perhaps? It wasn't overwhelming so he doubted the forest was on fire.

He perked up. A traveler setting camp for the night could mean food. If it was only one or two people he was confident he could sneak up on them, snatch some food and flee before they had a chance to grab any weapons and kill him. He favoured his chances with this over stealing food from the village, which might still be on high alert due to his presence.

He followed his nose until he saw the light of a campfire shining through the trees. He could just make out the silhouette of a horse and a man. Praising his luck he crept forward, slowly and carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. He snuck from tree to bush, drawing closer and closer to the little camp.

His mouth watered. He could smell something cooking on the fire. Some sort of meat. He couldn't tell what it was but quite frankly he didn't much care. He was so gods damned hungry.

It wasn't until he was closer to the camp, still a ways back from the edge of the firelight, that he took notice of what the man was doing. The light caught on the object in his hands and it wasn't difficult to see that it was a sword. Nor was it difficult to see the second sword propped up next to the man while he cleaned the first now that Jaskier's attention wasn't focussed solely on a potential meal.

_Witcher. Fuck!_

Jaskier froze. The instincts inside of him warring. Run or hide? He could take his chances and try to run, but if the Witcher took umbrance to his close proximity and gave chase Jaskier doubted he could outrun the man. On the other hand he could stay still, hiding in the underbrush and praying the Witcher didn't notice him there. He was lucky enough to be standing downwind though he wasn't sure how long that would help him in the presence of a Witcher.

He decided to try his luck sneaking away. He managed one step before his back paw stepped on a twig.

The resounding _crack_ sounded like thunder in his ears.

Jaskier flattened himself, belly to the ground, ears back in sheer terror as the Witcher stood and spun to look in his direction. His sword was still firmly grasped in his hand.

It was then that Jaskier finally got a good look at the man's face, illuminated by the fire.

_Geralt!_

Geralt's eyes were scanning the area where he was hidden and Jaskier realised he had to make a decision. And fast.

He stood, stepping forward slowly before laying flat, directly in Geralt's field of vision. He placed a paw over his nose, trying to look as un-threatening as possible.

Roach nickered nervously to his side but he didn't dare look over. His eyes were fixed on the man in front of him, who had paused but still very much had his sword ready.

Jaskier whined, his eyes locked onto Geralt's glowing yellow ones.

The Witcher stared at him.

"You smell of magic," he stated, his fingers coming up to brush the wolf medallion hanging round his neck. "Perhaps a witch's pet that got loose?"

 _Not quite,_ Jaskier thought. But if it kept the sword out of his flesh he would take it.

Geralt stepped forward carefully, Jaskier holding as still as possible.

"Certainly tame enough," he said.

Geralt knelt beside him. Jaskier allowed him to press his hand to his head.

"Are you hurt?" Geralt murmured.

His hand rubbed its way down Jaskier's flank. Jaskier didn't dare move, too afraid of startling the Witcher into violent action. Geralt checked him over for injuries, obviously finding none, before rocking back onto his heels.

"Hmm."

Jaskier plucked up his courage, daring to move. He lifted his head slowly, noting how the Witcher tensed. He didn't allow himself to flinch and carefully sniffed at his free hand.

Geralt stroked his head once more before standing, causing Jaskier to flatten himself again in fright.

"Easy," Geralt reassured as he stepped back over to his seat at the fire. He placed his sword down with the other and sat.

Jaskier waited a second or two before standing, keeping himself hunched in an attempt to look as small as possible. He edged his way towards the fire and sat. He sniffed as close as he dared to get at the food cooking on the flames.

"Are you hungry?" Geralt asked. 

Jaskier just stared at him.

The Witcher leant over to check on the food, pulling it off when he deemed it ready. He broke off a leg (a bird of some kind, possibly a pheasant?) and threw it to Jaskier.

Jaskier didn't hesitate. He tore into the leg, quickly striping the meat from it. The rest of the bird landed in front of him as he finished. 

He looked up to see the Witcher staring at him. Jaskier looked back down at the bird. He was starving but he didn't want to take all of Geralt's food. 

"Eat it. It's barely a morsel compared to the size of you," he said. "I've got some food in my bag."

Jaskier looked at him once more before tucking into the food at his feet.

"You have some level of understanding or training then?" Geralt pondered while Jaskier ate.

When he was finished he saw Geralt nibbling on some hardtack. Jaskier knew from experience the stuff was less than pleasant and blander than a mouthful of sand. He felt a spike of guilt at eating Geralt's entire meal.

Still, now that he had finally eaten some of the exhaustion of the day was starting to catch up to him. He settled himself down next to the fire with a yawn.

"You better not try and eat my horse," Geralt said.

The Witcher was sitting in his meditation stance, swords just to his side, ready to spring into action. Jaskier just blinked slowly, allowing sleep to drag him under, feeling more safe than he had the past few days.

-

Jaskier woke the next morning to Geralt attaching his bags to Roach. Jaskier got up and stretched, pulling Geralt's attention towards him.

"You didn't eat my horse," Geralt stated rather unnecessarily. "Do you know your way home?"

Jaskier barked as gently as he could, so as not to scare Roach, and turned in the direction of the Mage's cottage. He took a few steps, turning to make sure the Witcher was following him. He was _not_ setting out on his own again. Not with the, now very likely, chance that no one would be at the cottage and he would be stuck in the same situation as the day before.

Geralt sighed and pulled Roach around to follow. 

It took them about an hour's walking to reach the cottage. Jaskier led them to the front door, watching as Geralt knocked, knowing it was no good. There were still no fresh scents at all around the house.

Geralt knocked again before slowly opening the door.

"Hello?"

Jaskier nudged his way past the Witcher and over to where he had stashed his lute and bag. Untouched, as expected. 

Geralt made his way over, curious. He looked at the lute and blinked.

"Is that…" Geralt trailed off and looked at him. "Jaskier?"

Jaskier stood and butted his head against Geralt's hip, noticing for the first time just how large he was, even next to the Witcher.

Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What did you do?"

Jaskier was offended. He growled low in the back of his throat at the accusation, staring at the man with righteous indignation. Okay so he got into some rather sticky situations sometimes but not _all_ of them were his fault.

"I think I know where Yennefer is," Geralt said, "though it will probably take about a month to get there since we'll have to stay off the roads."

A month?

Jaskier blinked. Despair washed over him like a bucket of icy water.

_A month!_

He couldn't be stuck as a wolf for a whole entire _month._ It was undignified! It was preposterous. It was _unfair._

Jaskier didn't move as Geralt leant over him to pick up his lute and pack, too busy lamenting the whole, frankly ridiculous, situation.

_A month._

"Jaskier. C'mon," Geralt said before smiling slyly, "unless you need me to whistle for you to _heel._ "

Jaskier growled at him, baring his teeth. He lifted himself and followed him out of the cottage, knocking purposefully into Geralt's hip as he passed. Jaskier felt smug satisfaction as the Witcher took a step to the side needing to correct his balance. 

Perhaps there were _some_ benefits to being stuck in his form. He was certainly more powerful as a wolf than he had been as a bard.

Geralt glared at him, unimpressed but Jaskier just stared at him innocently. The Witcher shook his head, closed the door and moved to take Roach's reins. He guided her back to the treeline, plunging into their shadowy depths with Jaskier following closely behind.

-

They spent the next week or so traveling in silence. Not that there was much Jaskier could do about that stuck in this form.

Usually when traveling with Geralt, Jaskier would be responsible for about ninety percent of the conversation. He would sing little ditties, comment on the surrounding area, mumble to himself as he wrote notes for new compositions; but Geralt seemed more than content to walk on in silence despite traveling with company.

Gods he missed being able to sing. He missed his lute. This spell felt, to Jaskier, like it had been specifically designed to be as cruel as possible, despite the fact he had never been it's intended target. Not only did he feel entirely incompetent, being able to utilise approximately _zero_ of the skills one would assume came with being a wolf, he was also inadvertently cursed into silence.

It was no secret that Jaskier liked to talk. That he spoke aloud whatever thought managed to tug at his attention. That he enjoyed words. That he liked to _express himself._

He knew he was being sullen. 

He flopped to the ground as soon as Geralt had chosen a place to camp. Jaskier watched the Witcher dejectedly as he lay there. Geralt clearly picked up on his bad mood, casting looks his way as he went about setting up camp for the night.

Jaskier got up to wander around the camp, suddenly restless. He circled through the trees, sniffing around and trying to decipher the different scents and how old they were. So focussed was he that he failed to realise how close he had strayed to Roach.

He yelped as blunt teeth clamped down on his tail. He scrambled away from her, managing to trip over his own feet in panic and ending up splayed out in the dirt.

"Roach," came Geralt's voice in clear warning.

Roach nickered and shook her head. Jaskier stared at her as he lay just out of biting distance. He had wondered if Roach recognised him in this form. It hadn't taken her long to relax as he traveled with them, though Jaskier was usually careful to keep a respectful distance from her. Just in case.

Apparently his caution hadn't been unwarranted.

He gave Roach a wide berth, circling around the back of her over to where Geralt had stored their belongings.

He paused when his eyes alighted on his own pack and his lute. The instrument sat there amongst Geralt's bags looking sadly neglected.

Jaskier nudged at his lute with his nose. Geralt watched him from his seat by the fire.

"I doubt even you could manage to play with those paws," he said. Jaskier glared at him. "C'mon. Foods nearly ready."

Jaskier took one last, longing look at his lute before padding over to Geralt. He flopped down, resting his head on Geralt's knee. The Witcher stared at him but Jaskier refused to move or be bothered by the eyes boring into him.

His ears twitched when a hand came to stroke at the fur on his head and neck. Well, fuck him if that wasn't soothing. His eyes closed blissfully as Geralt's nails scratched behind his ears. 

He would absolutely _kill_ Geralt if he so much as mentioned this when this was all over and he was human again.

-

They came across a village the next day. Geralt told Jaskier to wait with Roach while he went to pick up a few supplies and inquire about any potential contracts.

He came back with a contract for some drowners that had been causing the village some grief. Jaskier watched Geralt dispatch the monsters with quick efficiency. Jaskier snorted at the foul smell that hit his nose as Geralt harvested any useful parts from the corpses. 

Having a heightened sense of smell was not always a boon it seemed.

Geralt returned to claim his payment from the village- a generous amount considering the simplicity of the contract Jaskier thought- and they moved on in short order.

When they stopped for the night Jaskier settled himself on the floor at Geralt's side. With little else to occupy his attention he contented himself with watching Geralt clean and sharpen his swords.

He had seen the man do his countless times over the years but found it no less fascinating to watch. Jaskier was almost disappointed when Geralt set his swords aside having finished his task. 

When Geralt retrieved Jaskier's lute and pack from amongst the saddlebags Jaskier sat up intrigued. The Witcher set the instrument on his knee carefully and pulled two small pouches from his pocket. One was empty but the other contained new lute strings.

"Bought these in case I break the old ones," Geralt explained.

Jaskier tilted his head. Geralt had bought him new strings? 

Geralt opened Jaskier's pack, placing the new strings inside and pulling out the cloth and wax Jaskier used to keep his lute in perfect condition.

Geralt set the item's in his lap and started to remove the strings. It was delicate work but his fingers worked nimbly and soon enough they were all removed. Not a single one snapped.

Jaskier was impressed.

Geralt wound the strings and placed them into the second pouch. He picked up the cloth and wax, scooping out a small dollop then rubbing it into the wood.

Jaskier watched, enthralled. 

Geralt worked slowly, rubbing wax over the instrument exactly as Jaskier had done so many times while they traveled together over the years. So Geralt did pay attention to him?

When he finished he placed the items back into Jaskier's pack.

"The old strings are in this pouch. I'm not even going to attempt to put them back on," Geralt explained, holding the aforementioned pouch out so Jaskier could see it.

Jaskier was sure if he had had the ability he would have cried. This was possibly the sweetest thing Geralt had done for him since they had met.

-

The next two weeks were spent traveling carefully between a few villages and farmsteads. The forest tapered off twice, forcing them out into open fields. 

Jaskier tried his best to stay hidden from view behind Roach as they crossed. The road was likely far enough away to be of no concern but there were people working in the various fields around them.

They were either at a good enough distance or the people were too busy with their tasks for them to spot the odd trio passing them by.

It was risky, but finding a more sheltered route would add even more time to their journey. Which Jaskier was keen to avoid if at all possible.

His mood had improved somewhat since Geralt had taken upon himself the task of caring for Jaskier's lute.Jaskier had in turn taken to walking closer to Geralt, bumping affectionately against his hip every so often, careful not to unbalance the Witcher with his bulk.

Geralt said nothing, though his hand did occasionally come to rest on Jaskier's back.

They came to another village, Geralt once again going off to ask after any contracts. He came back successful- a nest of nekkers in the forest surrounding the village- and led them to a nearby river to set up camp. 

It was well into dusk by the time Geralt set off to take care of the monster infestation. Jaskier followed him, trotting through the underbrush.

Geralt glanced back at him.

"I hope I don't have to tell you to stay well back."

Jaskier dutifully positioned himself at a fair distance, half hidden by a bush, when Geralt informed him that they were close to the nest. Geralt had barely taken a few steps forwards before the creatures started attacking en masse.

Geralt swiftly dispatched the nekker that crawled from the ground at his feet, swinging rapidly to kill the one dropping down from the tree above his head.

Jaskier watched on, the fading light catching on Geralt's sword as he danced his way through the nekkers surrounding him. He swung the weapon, killing any monsters stupid enough to come within range.

He managed to create an opening, giving him enough time to throw some bombs into the nekkers nest.

He turned, his sword a blur as he cut down the nekker sneaking up behind him. 

Jaskier caught the quick hand movement of a sign before the Igni ignited the bombs within the nest. The explosion was loud, bright and devastating. It also sent the remaining nekkers into a frenzied rage.

They charged at Geralt but their rage made them sloppy and Geralt cut them all down within minutes.

Jaskier stood, stepping out from where he was hidden while the Witcher checked the nest to ensure nothing had survived the blast.

Jaskier veritably shit himself as a monster that was decidedly _not_ a nekker pushed its way through the trees with a growl.

Jaskier had never seen one in person before but he knew a chort when he saw one. Its large, hulking form and thick, curved horns were more than a little intimidating.

Geralt spun to face the advancing monster. 

"Fuck."

Geralt took a few steps to the side, trying to circle around the chort. The creature mimicked his movements, preventing Geralt from finding an opening. Jaskier heard him swear under his breath before the monster charged full speed at the Witcher. 

Geralt dodged out of its way, slashing its side with his sword before darting back out of range. The creature was fast but not agile. He managed this a few times but it only appeared to enrage the monster.

Geralt skipped backwards, avoiding the swipe of the beasts claws. But the chort charged again before Geralt had fully found his footing. 

Jaskier watched as Geralt tried to dodge to the side but he wasn't fast enough. The chort's horn slammed into Geralt's midsection, launching him across the small clearing and into a tree.

Geralt slumped to the ground, struggling to get to his feet. The chort moved in, clearly seeing its advantage, arm raised, ready to finish the Witcher off.

_Geralt!_

Jaskier ran and lept at the chort, sinking his teeth into the side of its neck. His claws dug into the creature's flesh as his feet scrambled for purchase. The chort swung itself wildly, dislodging Jaskier and sending him skidding away.

The monster turned to Jaskier, getting ready to charge but it never got the chance. Geralt, having dragged himself to his feet, used the distraction to come round the chort's side, thrusting his sword up through the underside of its mouth and directly into its brain. 

The chort let out a rattling noise before dropping to the floor, dead. Geralt pulled his sword free as it went. He cast his gaze around the forest, sheathing his sword once he deemed it safe to do so.

Jaskier watched, horrified, as the Witcher took one step forward and crumpled to the ground.

He got up and ran over to him.

_Blood._

He could smell blood.

He managed to push the Witcher into his back, immediately finding the source of the bleeding.

There was a large, deep gash across Geralt's stomach, bleeding profusely. It had to have been from the impact of the chort's horn. It had torn clean through Geralt's armour.

Jaskier tried not to panic. _What should I do?_ he wondered. _I could drag him back to camp._

He moved behind the Witcher, taking the edge of his armour in his teeth and pulled. Geralt slid across the ground and Jaskier huffed in triumph. 

_Okay, this could work._

It was slow going but Jaskier forced himself to keep moving. 

Eventually it became too difficult to manoeuvre Geralt around the trees and bushes, his swords catching on roots and foliage that Jaskier couldn't see as he walked backwards.

He carefully lowered Geralt to the ground. 

He didn't think that he would be able to drag the Witcher all the way back to their camp, or that he even should. The rate at which he was losing blood had lessened but there was still more blood flowing from the wound than Jaskier thought was safe; even with the Witcher's fast healing.

Jaskier curled around Geralt's head protectively. He was certain that there were other animals, and possibly more monsters, lurking in the woods that would be able to smell Geralt's blood.

He would stay vigilant and try to think of a new plan.

-

Geralt came to with a pained grunt. Jaskier pulled his attention from the trees around them to the Witcher lying beside him.

Geralt pushed himself into a sitting position, his hand coming to press against the open wound.

"Fuck."

Jaskier stood, Geralt's yellow eyes flickering to him as he moved to stand in front of him.

"Jaskier? How far are we from camp?" Geralt asked, voice strained as his eyes scanned the area.

Jaskier looked in the direction he had been dragging the Witcher earlier. He didn't think they were too far from it. He hoped they weren't.

Geralt stood slowly, swaying but remaining upright out of nothing but determination by Jaskier's judgement.

Jaskier moved closer, allowing Geralt to lean some of his weight on him. They made their way gradually through the trees, Geralt's steps unsteady but persistent.

When they got back to camp Jaskier deposited Geralt by the slowly dying fire. He hurried over to the bags by Roach, pulling out the one he knew contained bandages and potions and other things Geralt would need.

He brought it over to him while Geralt struggled out of his armour and shirt.

Jaskier whined in distress when he finally saw the full extent of the injury. The gash was deep and appeared to have a puncture wound at one side. The bleeding was sluggish now but Geralt's entire torso was covered in blood.

"I've had worse," Geralt ground out, pulling supplies from the bag.

Jaskier shook himself, grabbing wood in his mouth and tossing it onto the fire so Geralt would have more light to work by.

When Geralt was finished he had a bandage wrapped around his middle. He shoved the empty potion bottle and unused bandages back into the bag, which Jaskier took from him. Jaskier returned the bag to the pile and grabbed Geralt's bedroll. He turned to find the Witcher kneeling at the edge of the river, cleaning the excess blood from himself.

He took his bedroll from Jaskier when he was done, setting it out and lying down carefully. 

Jaskier lay down next to him, curled around him once more. Geralt must have been too tired to care as he made no protestations to Jaskier being pressed against his side, falling asleep quickly.

The Witcher seemed a fair bit more healthy in the morning. He was grumbling as he packed the bags onto Roach's saddle.

"It makes a lot more sense as to why there were so few nekkers considering how long the village has had a problem with them," he said, pulling himself into Roach's back with a wince.

Jaskier stared at him as they set off.

"If they've been fighting for territory with the chort their numbers would have taken a hit," he explained.

Jaskier hoped the villagers hadn't known about the chort and not just neglected to mention it when handing out the contract.

It turned out the villagers had no idea there had been a chort anywhere near them, only adding a few meager coins to the payment for the trouble.

Jaskier thought it was outrageous but Geralt seemed more than happy to just move on. 

Jaskier despaired of him sometimes.

-

Jaskier could hear the village before he could see it. He stopped at the edge of the treeline before Geralt even had to ask. It had been two days since the chort and the weather had taken a turn for the worse.

"I just need to pick up some supplies."

Jaskier looked pointedly at the thick, dark rain clouds that had been brewing all day, their heavy blanket chasing away the daylight rapidly.

"I won't be long," Geralt said, rolling his eyes and heading off into the village with Roach. 

No sooner was Geralt out of sight when the heavens opened. The rain came down hard, fast, and cold. Jaskier huffed as he sat there, his fur steadily becoming more and more soaked.

After what felt like a lifetime, but was probably only an hour at best, Geralt and Roach exited the village, making their way over to where Jaskier sat waiting impatiently.

"Are you growling at the rain?" Geralt asked, an eyebrow raised as he drew closer.

Jaskier just looked at him, unimpressed.

 _Some of us don't have cloaks to keep us dry, Geralt,_ he thought grumpily.

Geralt shook his head. "C'mon then."

Jaskier stared longingly towards the village, wishing that he could spend the night holed up in a room at the tavern. Nice, dry and warm.

Geralt must have noticed he wasn't following because he had stopped again to look at him. He followed Jaskier's gaze to the village.

"You're a bit big for me to smuggle in. I think even the heavily drunk would notice a Witcher bringing a wolf into his room," he said, his voice dry but vaguely amused.

Jaskier stood up and followed him. Geralt found a small cave for them to settle in out of the rain. It was just big enough for the three of them and a fire. Jaskier was just thankful they weren't going to have to sleep in the open.

Geralt got a fire going quickly. Jaskier lay himself in front of it to dry off, watching lazily as Geralt unpacked the bags from Roach.

He woke to Geralt shaking his shoulder. He lifted his head from his paws with a yawn. Jaskier rose into a stretch, his back arching, front paws out as far as they could go before shaking himself. At least his fur was dry now. 

He padded over to where Geralt had lain out his portion of the food and tore into it gratefully. Beef. He must have picked up some cuts of meat in the village.

When Geralt set out his bedroll and lay down for the night Jaskier watched. The Witcher had spent the past two nights opting for meditation over sleep. Jaskier was glad to see him choosing to get some proper rest. He hesitated for a second before moving to lie protectively around Geralt, the same way he had when he'd been injured.

Geralt didn't move.

"I'm fine, Jaskier. It's almost fully healed now," he said, gently.

Jaskier just rubbed his face affectionately against Geralt's head before settling down once more. He listened to the wind and rain howling outside their cave, content to be out of it and surrounded by Geralt's scent.

-

They spent the next week traveling towards the town where they hoped Yennefer would be with little trouble. Each night Jaskier slept curled around Geralt and woke up with the Witcher's face buried in his fur.

Geralt didn't mention it and Jaskier refused to draw more attention to it than necessary.

When they came upon the town Geralt went ahead to ask after the sorceress.

"We're in luck, she's here," he said when he came back.

Jaskier sagged in relief. He would be human again in a matter of hours.

"However, you're not going to like this," he continued. Jaskier watched on, confused, as he pulled a rope from one of the saddlebags. "I'm going to need to tie this around your neck."

Jaskier blinked, indignant.

"Jaskier, they're not just going to let a Witcher stroll into town with a wolf at his heels," Geralt said, the exasperation clear in his voice.

Jaskier huffed before conceding. He stepped forward begrudgingly to let Geralt tie the rope around him. When he was done Jaskier shook himself. The rope wasn't right but he certainly didn't appreciate it being there.

"It's getting pretty dark. The streets were fairly empty when I was in before. With any luck we won't run into too many people on our way to Yennefer."

As it turned out, luck was indeed on their side. They crossed paths with no one, only one young man glimpsing them through his window before they slipped out of sight around the corner.

They came to a decently sized house and Geralt tied Roach to a post. He untied the rope from Jaskier's neck, slipping it back into his bag before letting Jaskier into the house.

They were in a dimly lit hallway, a staircase to the right and doors leading off to various rooms on the left.

"Yen?" Geralt called out, listening for a reply.

Her call came from the second room along the hall and Geralt walked ahead, letting himself into the room before indicating for Jaskier to follow.

Yennefer was sprawled across a comfortable looking seat before the fire.

"Geralt, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Yennefer asked, sitting up.

Then her eyes fell on Jaskier.

"You're really taking the whole White wolf persona to heart these days, huh?" Yennefer said, glancing between Geralt and Jaskier amused.

Geralt sighed. "Yen…"

"Except, that's no ordinary wolf is it?" She continued as though he hadn't spoken. "In fact, that's no wolf at all."

"No."

A positively wolfish grin spread across the sorceress' face.

"It's the bard, isn't it?"

Geralt sighed again. "Yes."

Yennefer looked delighted. "And just what did he do to wind up stuck under this particular spell?"

"Well, Yennefer, I would love to ask him, only he's not exactly very talkative at the moment," Geralt said pointedly.

Jaskier huffed. As if this wasn't bad enough without having a smug witch taking blatant joy out of his suffering.

Yennefer eyed him critically for a moment. "Yes, well. It's a simple enough fix. Shan't be a moment."

They watched as she swept from the room.

"Did you honestly think she would find this amusing?" Geralt asked skeptically.

Jaskier bared his teeth silently and focused on the door which Yennefer had gone through.

She was back in a few minutes, bowl in hand, steadily mixing it's contents. She walked over to him and paused.

"I won't lie, this isn't going to be pleasant."

And then she unceremoniously dumped the potion directly onto his head.

He helped and whimpered at the pain that tore through him. It was agonising. The feeling of all his muscles and bones shifting and reforming back into their original shape. The pain felt like it lasted for hours before he was lying face down on the floor, naked and shivering but human once again.

Geralt's cloak was placed over him while he lay there trying to catch his breath.

"Is he okay?" Geralt asked.

"He's fine. Just give him a moment." Yennefer said.

Once he was no longer panting Jaskier managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He pulled the cloak tightly around himself, hyper aware of his nudity. He gathered his bearings and tried to stand.

Jaskier would have ended up flat on the floor again if Geralt hadn't grabbed him as his legs gave out. The larger man easily supported Jaskier's weight as he stood there trembling uncontrollably.

"You might feel a bit unsteady for some time while you get used to being bipedal again," Yennefer said, watching them, "but it should wear off soon enough."

"Thank you, Yen." Geralt said.

"Don't mention it."

Geralt led Jaskier from the room, setting him down on a seat near the bottom of the stairs. He indicated for Jaskier to wait there before striding out of the house. He came back a moment later with Jaskier's pack in his hands.

He pulled out a set of clothes, handing them to Jaskier who took them gratefully. Jaskier pulled them on as quickly as possible, drawing Geralt's cloak back around his shoulders as soon as he was done.

Fuck it was cold after spending the past month or so covered head to toe in fur. He looked up at Geralt who was waiting patiently.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice scratchy from disuse. 

Geralt nodded and brought him out to the street where Roach was waiting. He helped Jaskier mount her and led them to the inn. The Witcher quickly paid for a room, supporting Jaskier when his unsteady legs refused to cooperate and climb the stairs.

Jaskier was deposited on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Geralt's wrist before he could step away, holding him there. The Witcher looked at him and allowed himself to be pulled down to sit next to the bard.

Jaskier stared at the door while he gathered his thoughts.

"Thank you," he said, eventually, "for everything."

Geralt shook his head. "You don't-"

"I do," Jaskier interrupted. "I would have been dead if I hadn't found you. I would have starved or been killed and no one would have ever known what happened to me."

He could feel Geralt looking at him.

"What did happen, Jaskier?"

Jaskier sighed. 

"I'd just left a village when I heard a commotion further down the road. When I got closer I realised that it was two mages fighting. I don't know if they were intending on killing each other but it looked pretty damn violent," he explained. "I guess I was curious so I snuck closer to get a better look."

"That was-"

"Stupid, _I know._ Trust me."

Geralt grunted. "You were lucky. If you had been hit with another spell I might not have been able to help."

"I am well aware," he grouched.

It was silent for a few minutes before Geralt spoke again.

"You saved my life too," he said, softly.

Jaskier stared at him, finding the slightly awkward but open honesty in his expression rather endearing.

"You're welcome. Though you probably would have been fine, even if I wasn't there," he said dismissively.

"...maybe, maybe not."

Jaskier hummed. He slid his hand down from Geralt's wrist to his hand, threading their fingers together. Geralt squeezed back gently, his thumb rubbing across Jaskier's knuckle. 

"Thank you for looking after my lute. I imagine you enjoyed the silence while we were traveling, since I couldn't play or sing?" Jaskier asked, leaning against Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt took a moment to respond. 

"Not all the time, no."

Jaskier's heart skipped delightedly at the quiet confession. He said nothing, not wanting to ruin the mood, resting against Geralt with their hands clasped.

They stayed like that for a while, Jaskier slowly starting to drift off. Geralt squeezed his fingers.

"You hungry?"

Jaskier shook his head.

"Just tired."

Geralt stood, clearly intending to make room for him to sleep, but Jaskier followed quickly, not releasing his grip on the Witcher's hand. 

"Geralt," he said softly, using his free hand to turn the Witcher's face back to him.

He gazed into his yellow eyes before leaning slowly forward and pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. He pulled back after a few seconds but Geralt followed, kissing him soundly.

Jaskier all but melted into him, his hand falling to Geralt's waist while their lips moved together. It wasn't at all what he expected their first kiss to be like, soft and tender instead of passionate and desperate, but it was more than enough to make him feel a little weak at the knees.

Geralt's free hand came up to the back of Jaskier's head. Geralt's nails scratched gently through his hair, not unlike how they had when Jaskier had been stuck as a wolf. 

Jaskier couldn't help the keening noise he made at the back of his throat.

Geralt breathed out a laugh.

" _Shut up,_ " Jaskier demanded before he could say anything, pressing a kiss against Geralt's smiling mouth. 

It didn't take much convincing to get the Witcher to lose himself in the kiss again.

  
  
  



End file.
